


Those About to Rock

by Waning_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession of children, Gen, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, St. Patrick's Day, Torture, eventual hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 18:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10367016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waning_Grace/pseuds/Waning_Grace
Summary: After a bad hunt Dean heads to a bar to blow off some steam...and doesn't return. When Sam realizes his brother's missing it's up to him to begin the search before it's too late.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story as well as my first foray into the world of Dean-whump so welcome to the ride! My inspiration for this came from reading the amazing works of Metarachel and Hazeldomain. They're both awesome writers and this in no way as good as their stuff is but I appreciate the opportunity to play in the sandbox anyway! Things are going to start off a bit slow but they're going to pick up so please heed the tags as they will probably be added to as things move on. This isn't meant to be set in any specific season although it could slot into Season 12.

 

 

“HAAAAVE A DRINK ON ME!!!” Brian Johnson screamed out above the familiar drumming and guitar of AC/DC blared out of the two creaky old speakers set up over the old, wooden bar. The vibrations practically shook down the house; all along the back wall in which the speakers were mounted shook like a hurricane causing the glasses and bottles lining the shelves to wobble dangerously in sway to the music. Nobody paid the wobbling any mind however, either too drunk or far too used to it, to give a damn anymore. Certainly the burly man slinging drinks behind the counter didn’t seem perturbed—he was too busy trying to keep the glasses filled to worry about what was going on behind him.

All in all it was a typical night at Frank’s Bar despite the tacky green decorations that were still semi-strung about and the green-tinted beer the few remaining patrons of the bar were still gulping down with abandon. What had initially started out as a St. Patrick’s Day party had gone on for hours now already but things were slowly starting to dwindle as the clock began pushing towards 4am. Most of the party goers had left but the ones that were determined to party until morning’s light had taken up the slack—belting out the chorus to ‘Have a Drink on Me’ with raised glasses and slightly less than accurate, and utterly slurred, lyrics but no less enthusiasm for it. The guy behind the bar watched with a world-weary-having-seen-it-all-eyeroll and a shake of his head, muttering about drunken idiots, before going about his business.

At his spot at one of the small tables nestled towards the bar’s back corner, as far away from the noise and bustle of the bar proper as he could physically get, Dean Winchester followed suit in raising his nearly empty glass of green-tinted beer in solidarity but unlike the rest of the drunks in the place he didn’t break into song. Whereas he’d normally be smashed and singing right on along with the rest of the crowd his heart just wasn’t in it tonight. A frown had settled on his face and as the song wound down he lowered his mug again, the frown only growing further.

Apparently while drink number six of this backwater piss-thin beer was finally starting to loosen him up enough to where he was starting to not give a damn about anything, he wasn’t quite there yet. Ugh. A hand came up to scrub down his face as Dean blew out a noisy sigh, momentarily letting his eyes slip closed. It had been a hell of a day, and coming from him that was saying something indeed—they had caught wind of a case not far from here less than a week ago that had showed all the signs of demonic possession.

Thinking nothing of it he and Sam and loaded up and set out after the demonic bastards. It had looked to be an easy in and out—nothing they hadn’t seen before—and in hindsight that had been their first mistake. Instead of coming across a couple of demons dicking around, having their fun on the topside they’d found demons alright…possessing children. Seeing a bunch of possessed kindergartners was a mental image Dean didn’t think he would be getting rid of anytime soon. Just thinking about it was quickly scaling his inner list of things that managed to freak him the fuck out and thus was the biggest reason he was currently trying to drown the memory in rank green beer.

Whether it was the sight of so many black-eyed children or the leader of the pack, a demon Dean had immediately referred to as “Dick” for obvious reasons (because who else would decide to take over a bunch of kids?) the whole thing had just given him the damn creeps. It struck far too closely to the first version of Lilith they had come across in which she had been possessing that little girl and damn if thinking about her didn’t make Dean shudder in revulsion all these years later. His beer-addled thoughts skated carefully around any other thoughts thinking of Lilith may inspire because if nothing else he did not need the trip down memory lane to Hell, thank you very much, and he huffed out another sigh as he dug the fingers of the hand on his face into the corners of his eyes.

The whole mess had been a bloodbath, though a reluctant one. Dick and his posse weren’t willing to abandon the upper hand they had, knowing full well that neither Dean nor Sam would willingly harm children, no matter what might be inhabiting them, and just recalling the bastard’s oily voice sneering in perfect imitation of a child’s sing-song tone asking “And what are two big bad hunters going to do about it?” made his skin crawl with rage. There hadn’t been too much choice in the end, and while he couldn’t speak for Sam, Dean knew it was going to haunt him for a very long time to come. Finally lowering his hand Dean wasn’t surprised to see it shaking slightly considering the path his thoughts had taken him. With all the other crap in his life the memories of Hell had finally managed to fade though they were far from forgotten. A brief thought was spared for that bottle of nondescript pills Dean knew he still had stuffed in his duffle before being quickly abandoned again as Dean took up his mug once more and swiftly drained the remaining contents. Like the memories, the need for those little white pills had faded over time although there were still the times, usually after cases as crappy as this one had turned out to be, that it was nice to pop one down and let everything else melt into oblivion if only for a little while. As if retribution for his thoughts the remainder of the beer went down hard, leaving him coughing and sputtering in its wake as it burned a line of fire down his throat.

“You okay there handsome?” A soft voice interrupts his spluttering and spitting and when he finally calms down enough to raise his head again Dean’s surprised to see a dark-haired woman leaning against the worn edge of his table, eyeing him sympathetically. It’s pathetic (and later he’ll firmly blame it on the beer if anyone asks) but Dean jumps in surprise. _Smooth move there Winchester!_ He silently berates himself as his stomach gives an unpleasant lurch at the unexpected movement and only some hasty swallowing manages to keep everything where it’s supposed to be.

It takes a good couple of minutes and by the time he finally leans back Dean feels like he’s ran a marathon rather than just kept from tossing his metaphorical cookies everywhere—there’s no denying the sweat that’s beaded up on his forehead, though he forces out a smile as he hastily swipes at the gathering moisture and focuses his attention on the woman. She’s got dark skin to go with the dark hair and a heart-shaped face though that’s all filed in the back of Dean’s brain as he’s taken in by her eyes. They’re the brightest shade of green Dean thinks he’s ever, well, laid eyes on. They’re a strange combination of light and dark that seems to almost shift in intensity as she watches him looking at her and it just goes to show how crappy his life is that Dean’s immediate thought is ‘angel’ because there ain’t any other creatures out there with eyes like that and he finds himself reaching in his pocket for a weapon before he even realizes it.

Oblivious to the panic going on inside him the woman throws her head back and laughs, the sound warm and deep as she chuckles at him. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me an angel, sugar.” She drawls, a thick southern accent tinting her words that Dean hadn’t noticed before. “But I sure appreciate hearing it.”

Crap! Had he said that out loud? _Jesus…_ He must have had far more to drink than he realized—there was no way he should be out of it enough to be talking without realizing it even after a half a dozen drinks, not with the crap this bar was providing. The search for a weapon successfully diverted he raised his head again and tried his best to plaster on a disarming smile. “Well you’re welcome then,” he rasps voice still partially screwed from choking on the beer. “W-what brings you my way?”

“How could I resist, seeing such a handsome man sitting all alone?” The woman grins, and Dean doesn’t miss the way her lips are lined with dark green lipstick. It’s not a color that’d work on most but somehow on her it seems to work and it takes a moment to realize that his thoughts are starting to drift.

“Good thing I’m not alone anymore then, right?” He murmurs in reply, squinting at the way the world has started to grow a little fuzzy around the edges. He can still see the woman perfectly, and an increasingly sluggish part of his brain notes the way she’s eyeing him over like he’s a prime cut of beef she’s about to devour, yet most of his attention has been captured by the lights.

The tacky rope lights strung up along the wall behind them have started to spin without Dean’s notice and he can’t help but stare in ever-increasing confusion. “What the—“ is all he manages to get out before the world sways and tips dangerously and it takes far, far longer than it should to realize that the world isn’t actually moving—Dean is.

He doesn’t register falling out of his seat but he must have because the woman pushes off the table and leans over him, her vibrant eyes staring deeply into his. “Poor thing!” She coos, the sound grating against his ears as her dark lips split into a wide smile. “Can’t hold his drink…”

Loud ringing starts up in Dean’s ears, and distantly he contributes it to the radio that’s still belting out rock music over by the bar, but it does the trick in swallowing whatever it is that the woman is still saying. The last thing Dean’s aware of is the way she’s leaning in closer as darkness rises around him and swallows him whole…


End file.
